After the Merge
by jenskott
Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse he had accidentally kept a fraction of the power?
1. Part One Outcome

  
  
After of the Merge  
  
Author: Jenskott Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse, he have accidentally kept a fraction of the power?  
Notes: Really I've too many fanfics to work on, but the idea wouldn't let me alone. The thought of how a super-powerful Cyclops would alter the Marvelverse was too good to let it go. Besides, it'd allow me treat to Scott Summers how he must be treated, ignoring the last years of continuity. This can stand alone on its own, but I want doing it a series. Only don't hope constant updates.  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, but they shouldn't belong to Marvel either. Theirs legitimate creators are Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, who obviously I'm not. Argue me THAT.  
Rating: PG-13 for some language, I suppose.  
Feedback: To I need opinions, please. They will be read, reckoned with and worshipped. English isn't my primary language so there will be mistakes.  
  
Part One. Outcome-  
  
His finger lingered hesitantly over the switch. Finally he retired his hand, deciding no light up the room.  
  
After all, his vision was excellent even in the darkness. The shapes and the colors were always filtered through red shades.  
  
And of late he was developing a fondness by the shadows.  
  
Ignoring the unsettling discomfort that thought caused him, he strolled in the kitchen, heading for the fridge. He was thirsty, and craved for the cold and bubbling water sliding down his throat.  
  
A sudden idea halted him. Reluctant, but also curious, he stretched out his arm, reaching for the door even though his hand was too far to even touch the handle.  
  
Quietly the metallic, white door opened on its own, and a bottle of shining glass floated out of its slot. He concentrated in pulling the bottle at himself, simultaneously repelling the door's metal to close the freezer. However the strain turned out to be excessive, and his focusing faltered. The jar was smashed to bits on the floor, shattering in thousand tiny shards as the water spilled violently.  
  
"Oh, shit!" He cursed bitterly, palming his head, as he saw the liquid shaping a puddle on the tiles. "Jean will get my head for this."  
  
A sudden click sounded behind him, and the light flickered twice before illuminating the room wholly. He blinked, adjusting his vision to the abrupt brightness, and spun around. She stood on the threshold, draped in her pink robe and wearing her green slippers, yawning loudly. Her long and flaming hair was disheveled, and her bleary eyes gave a gaze dazed, wary. As if she found hard the mere effort of keeping her eyelids opened. He had to have screamed his agitation in her head unintentionally, and had woken up her, he thought ruefully.  
  
Seeing her rubbing her drowsy eyes, he sent the memory of his no sterling deed and his regret. She smiled thinly, despite of the sleepiness numbing her, and stumbled into the room, shooting at once a sidelong, passing glance at the mess spread on the floor. A surge of power jolted the pieces of glass, which darted at the trash bin, as a stream of water molecules slithered towards the sink.  
  
Such fine control and mastery, even half-asleep, he thought enviously. And he felt a pang of shame for it.  
  
She drew closer him, and her hand grazed with a gentle and soothing stroke his cheek. Her fingers put away carefully several long strands plastered on it. He had let grow his hair, and now it was shoulder-length. It gave him a mysterious looking. "Nightmares again?"  
  
He paused. "Yes. But you know that. I was in the desert again... And then I woke up, and God, I was so thirsty..." His hand brushed his throat, feeling it dry and brittle as sandpaper. He thought in fetching a glass of the cupboard, but then he got other idea. Any moment is good for practicing, isn't it?  
  
He cupped one hand and sharpened his senses until he saw the molecules of oxygen and hydrogen floating on the air. A bluish sheen seemed over his palm, and it coalesced and hardened in a circular crust, which grew upwards to shape a glass. A mist condensed above it, and an abundant rain of cold and fresh water poured in the glass. He downed it immediately, moaning in delight. The sensation was heavenly. His power boost could have some perks after all.  
  
He turned to see she was sat on the main table, his hands rolling a steaming mug. Camomile tea, probably. His eyes spotted the teapot still steaming on the board, atop of a tablecloth.  
  
He smirked sarcastically. "Don't tell me this is one of those times of a movie where all characters ended up spontaneously in the kitchen to get a heart-to-heart talk at the midnight."  
  
So sarcastic. So very acid. Biting, even. Despite of the popular belief, her husband had a sense of humor. One very dry and twisted. But he was now blacker, more cynical, more derisive than never.  
  
She smiled back. "You dragged me out of the bed. Therefore the guilt is yours, Slim."  
  
Then she stopped talking. Her eyes contemplated him with a watchful expression of deep and painful concern, intense enough to bore holes in his head.  
  
He loathed it. Everybody looked at him with worry and acted so cautious and wary... He was sick of seeing those faces of sorrow and fear aimed at him.  
  
Just like she was sick of he staring at her with fear every time her powers increased drastically? A tiny voice in his head nagged him. His shoulders slumped with the weigh of the chagrin.  
  
Yes, it bothers you a lot. But you can't help it more than I do it, right? He sent his thoughts in her head. She nodded. Slowly she brought her cup to the lips and sipped quietly.  
  
"Do... you want any drink?"  
  
He shook his head in denial. Although he needed getting drunk a lot lately he didn't intended setting a dangerous trend. Several times he had drove down to Harry's with Logan so he dragged him back when he passed out. Why did he need do that? He didn't know the precise answer. Maybe to throw away his control, numb the pain, or forget he was the leader all laughed about but needed desperately. Meanwhile he trusted in her to watch over him and avoid that he did any stupidity.  
  
Minutes passed where the only sounds were the tick of the clock and she gulping the lukewarm infusion. He gazed at her silently, hesitating. Then he walked behind her, and placed her hands on her shoulders. She nearly spat the tea of the surprise.  
  
"Your muscles are stiff" He uttered simply. He focused, and suddenly his hands pulsated with a soft glow of heat. He kneaded the shoulders on circles, massaging and dissolving each sore knot. She purred.  
  
He finished his massage, grinning weakly, and fetched one chair beside her. He plopped down and relaxed on the cushion, letting the tiredness leaving him.  
  
Now was her turn to stare. Studying carefully each curve on his face, her eyes searched his own, and he fidgeted nervously. She could feel his doubts and insecurities waging an inner war. Finally he linked hands with her, slightly reluctant of the touch, but allowing her transmit him warmth.  
  
Gradually, to no shy him away, she stretched out one hand and traced the line of his jowl before cupping his chin.  
  
"This morning" she chose carefully her words "called Charles."  
  
"Oh, yes?" He uttered. Neutrally.  
  
"Yes. He mentioned some little troubles, but he stated very clearly that he'd ship us back if we just THINK in interrupting our retirement before you're feeling better. He must blame to himself for..."  
  
Her voice trailed off, and he nodded. She felt his grief, misery and black depression, and soothed him with tranquility, hope, and light. She knew Charles blamed to himself, indeed. And that was the reason what she didn't blame him. He had always encouraged him to fight for his beliefs, but he didn't think what it might cost to the man he considered his son. He had all but lost his life, and his soul was shattered.  
  
And she was impeding the seams widened. "Besides he told me Warren has finally proposed to Betsy."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Yes. And Psylocke threatened us with grievous bodily harm if we don't attend to the wedding."  
  
"I wouldn't miss that for anything on the world." He smiled thinly. Inwardly she smirked with satisfaction. These days was tough pry him off his murky mood and make him smile. And his smile was beautiful.  
  
Silence. They remained quiet during minutes, gratified with the slight physical contact, without breaking the stillness enveloping them as a protective cloak. In the last months they had got used to long moments of awkward silence, when neither of them was certain of the right words to tell.  
  
He kept gazing at the opposite wall, although nobody might tell what his eyes were seeing on the shades of the plaster. She said nothing, got used to his eerie silences, his awkward pauses and his swift mood changes. Abruptly a noise of air sizzling and crisping hissed, and the teapot hovered slowly onto the counter.  
  
The faint blue glow surrounding it wasn't missed by her. Blowing several red strands out of her mouth, she stared at him smugly. "I see you're familiarizing quickly with your new powers, Slim."  
  
He lowered his head, gazing thoughtfully one of his eyes clenching and unclenching. "Yes. The bastard would likely tell I must be thankful by this gift. Which I never requested him." His hand closed tightly in a fist. He glared at it with loath.  
  
"Your power plus one shard of every one of us." She mused hesitantly. "Each piece tiny, but formidable on its own. All together..."  
  
"Yes" He uttered darkly, and raised his hands, putting them together with the open palms upwards. Amber sparks crackled on it as in a furnace, before changing into an electrical blue glow. Glacier vapor floated from them, and after sizzling steam. The heat evolved in hot-melting, red flames, and he put them off with a flicker of his wrists. Then he reabsorbed the lost energy.  
  
"Look at me" His lips snarled. "You know better than anybody the troubles I had to live with my own power. I clawed my way to learn to control it, trained to hone my optic beams until my head hurt so much I wanted vomiting, and now... Now I'm more powerful than I'd dreamt ever, more powerful than almost any mutant. And I didn't need it! To steal my body and sully my head wasn't enougn. Thanks to him I'm more scared than never from myself!"  
  
She listened quietly to his growling rant. "The power corrupts. The absolute power corrupts absolutely." She muttered softly. Those words were carved with fire and hurt and loss in her heart.  
  
"Exactly. Who can beat me now? Thor. Silver Surfer. Perhaps Hulk or Doc Strange. But among the mutants? Other than you, and maybe our children and Franklin Richards, nobody can stand up to me if I go nuts. Everybody knows that in the mansion. Everyone peeked me warily, wondering when the deranged man would snap. They forgot I now read minds." He spat contemptuously.  
  
"True" She mouthed, and brushed softly his brown hair. It was another reason because the Professor had suggested those vacations. He had many issues to cope with -like get over that monster dwelling in his head and carving his brain-, and besides his newly developed telepathy tortured him in ways very familiar to her. He sensed the nervousness, the worry and the grief of the people in the mansion, and that pain was driving him mad. The huge and empty Alaska's wilderness were more soothing to a novice telepath.  
  
His baleful glare melt in a tender and regretful glance towards her. "You felt like this, didn't you? Each time you showed off and someone got worried. Each time your power augmented and someone frightened. Each time you got angry and someone got frantic. You felt frustrated and furious. And you wished all -including your anal-retentive husband-shut up their mouths and trusted in you."  
  
She looked away and nodded weakly. "What couple we are, aren't we? A cyclops with his eyes blinded and a phoenix with her wings clipped."  
  
Her forefinger tangled in one of his long strands and she played with it.  
  
"Scott" She talked after a pregnant pause. The subject ate her alive with deep concern "Maybe you can use that power to do something good just for a change. Perhaps the reality-shifter shard will allow repair your brain damage..."  
  
He sighed sadly. "I don't dare. Warp the reality is very hard and tricky. It requires many power and focusing. And my brain is enough messed already to rummage in it."  
  
Sorrow and compassion washed over her face. "Then can't you get anything positive out of this shit?"  
  
Scott stood still. Then sighed and his right hand clasped her left hand. She entwined their fingers. "At least Nate gets his life back and is free to enjoy it. That drive, that anxiety for slaying to Nur at any price has faded."  
  
"The last thing I heard, Nathan, Domino and the kids were wrecking havoc and mayhem everywhere."  
  
"It sounds like them" He sniggered, cheerful for a moment. "At least my son is happy. I... I'm feeling like if a twister has turned me inside out and upside-down. However that's the description of my whole life so I shouldn't feel so shocked- Jean?"  
  
"Talk me" She pleaded. Her arm squeezed tightly his shoulder. Her eyes were sparkling with a bright sheen. "Just... tell me what you need."  
  
Her voice sounded cracked and plaintive. She was really pained. That ache mortified him in turn. But he wasn't certain of what words or acts would reassure her. So he acted instinctively, circling her waist with an arm and sitting her in his lap. His face buried in her hair.  
  
Stay with me, Jean. It's all I need He whispered mentally, sending his raw need.  
  
Always, Scott. Always She whispered back, sending her gratitude and her love.  
  
His hand sneaked upwards, sliding between her breasts, and resting tenderly on her breastbone. He did that to sense the rhythmic thumping of her heartbeats. To feel her heart. Her fingers caressed tenderly his hand, feeling it trembling with the touch.  
  
Keeping a cold distance a minute, clinging to you as a castaway to a piece of driftwood the next. He was in an emotional turmoil since the Merge, going from aloof to tender to choleric to mellow to sad to joyful with incredible easiness. The mood changes were disconcerting, unpredictable, but she ate anything he dished out, absorbing it as a sponge to scan his feelings. And now she sensed a desperate need for closeness, for warmth. As a fretful child. However it was shifting in other wanting. A primal craving.  
  
His damp mouth nuzzled his neck and she knew what he needed. He wanted her and wanted her now.  
  
God, Red. If only I was able of telling you how much I love you He breathed.  
  
We don't need words, Slim. We never did She assured him.  
  
And he knew how having her. His body suddenly burst in golden blazes of atomic fire, the same kind generated Sunfire, blazes enveloped her, licking her body. She arched back her head and screamed in pleasure. Like her namesake, she burnt, and those flames fueled her inner fire. And drowned in flares she felt joyously, explosively alive. He knew it and used it to arouse her.  
  
She ensconced on his lap, and tilted fractionally her head, offering her lips. He took them.  
  
No one positive thing to yourself, uh, Slim? She relished on the kiss' flavor, returning his lust. Are you sure of you can't find any good use to your powers?  
  
Mental silence. Then, a hearty chuckle. I suppose that crap about clouds with silver lining is true after all. This is one of the fringe benefits  
  
Fringe? When I'm through with you...  
  
But he didn't heard anymore. As his hands performed several tasks, his mind wandered back to the day when ended the world how they knew it. The Gathering of the Twelve and the Battle of Akkaba.  
  
To be continued... 


	2. Part Two Battle of Wills

  
  
After the Merge  
  
Author: Jenskott Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse, he kept accidentally any of the power?  
Notes: Thank you very much for your reviews. Please, write me more! The first chapter was a kind of prelude of the future. The real action begins in this part. This is my version of the Battle of Akkaba. Enjoy.  
Rating: PG-13 for some language and violence.  
Feedback: To I need opinions, please. They will be read, reckoned with and worshipped.  
  
Part Two. Battle of Wills-  
  
The atmosphere boiled with fire. Blue and white blazes sparkled, leapt and swirled in a vortex. A powerful gale of wind mixed with crackling lightnings welled up wildly from it. And the hurricane carried the rumbling roar of a thunder-like laughter.  
  
Bright light blinded him, aloud noise scratched his ears and violent whirlwind dragged him backwards. He was injured and exhausted and drained, and barely was able of standing up and walking two steps. And still he stepped forward, driven by an unyielding determination, ignoring it everything except his goal. The knowledge of what was about of happening and the only way of stopping it had dawned on him. And with that realization he made a choice. And he never backed down when he was set on something.  
  
"You've always held us in contempt, Apocalypse! We were your puppets, whose purpose was to serve your grand design. You cut yourself off from your own humanity so long ago... you forgot how truly powerful it makes us. You look pretty impressive trying to imprint yourself on the soul of a boy. Let's see how well you fare- against a man!"  
  
And with that wild cry of defiance he threw himself between the villain and the boy was his son in another time and reality, bursting the bubble-like shield Apocalypse had been protecting with, and shoving out of the way to Nate Grey.  
  
And then he felt something bursting in his mind. Exploding a breach on his mental shields and pouring into him as a river of slippery molasses trickling in his skull.  
  
He had cried his love to Jean telepathically. He had yelled his contempt to Apocalypse. He had screamed mockingly in challenge. Now he howled in pain. An intense, piercing, excruciating agony, as thousand acid-tipped claws stabbing his brain and carving long bloody furrows.  
  
And then he listened to the grieving, disbelieving, desperate Jean's cry. Which degenerated in a shriek.  
  
Jean had got laboriously on his knees to watch to Scott striding with utter and stubborn determination towards Apocalypse. For a moment she hesitated, wondering what he would do when Nate and she had been useless and he had run out of power. Her emerald eyes widened impossibly with shock when she realized what he was about of doing.  
  
And then he leapt into the energy maelstrom, shouting her a last 'I love you'. Nate was roughly pushed out of the way, falling on the floor. And the shriveled, decayed corpse was the true Apocalypse's shape disintegrated as a wilted flower, as unholy light erupted out of him and rushed at Scott. She heard his scream of appalling hurt, and watched his body blurring, shifting, warping, becoming bigger and bulkier...  
  
She contemplated the entire display paralyzed in horror, seeing the man she worshipped more than the very life dying. Scott was dying, that monster was taking him away her, and she was helpless, impotent, useless to impede it...  
  
No, that was untrue. She was able of doing something. But she was too much of a coward to act. It'd mean release forces was better letting asleep, face parts of herself she preferred ignore, set off a chain of events she couldn't bear relive. But the alternative was losing her husband.  
  
With agony and chagrin, she reached within herself, seeking a place of her mind, in her innermost core, hidden so deeply almost nobody had seen it. She broke the bar kept the double titanium doors locked, and found an unfathomable and black pit, an abyss of lightless shadows. Her voice called the power. Darkness was drowned with sheer golden light, and cosmic flares filled the cliff, welling out of it.  
  
Jean drunk the power tide whole, and with a steeled and hardened glare, unfolded her flaming wings and soared down her psilink with Scott, a path twisted downwards as a spiral staircase. The other extreme of the bond usually glowed with warm crimson light, but now it was tainted with darkness.  
  
She stormed in the place violently, gliding amidst the tendrils of oozing slime and reeking blackness were invading it all. Her coming stirred them, and they swirled around her, ready to entrap her and engulf her. Jean simply burst in blistering flames, incinerating the thick negative energy dared to come near, and she plunged headlong in the wall of blackness rose in front of her. Powerless to stop her, the shadows screeched and burnt to ashes with a mere brush of her wings.  
  
Swiftly she pierced the coal-black barrier, and her keen eyesight spotted them when she reached the lightside. Scott was one tiny and diminutive figure, crushed under the unbearable weight of an ocean of energy washed over him in a ceaseless tidal wave, threatening overwhelm him and squash him as an insect. He moaned in pain, feeling his bones splintered and his mind flayed, but even then he crawled along the 'floor', wrestling defiantly with him by his body's control.  
  
And she saw him in the other side. Huge as a mountain and just so monolithic, with a booming laughter echoed throughout the mindscape, hurling wave after wave of power at Scott to force him to surrender, to relinquish the control, taunting him with his weakness and with the assurance of ceasing his torment. Her husband wasn't listening to that malignant voice, but his willpower faltered.  
  
Indescribable, anguished wrath and fierce overprotective love possessed her, and the firebird released a deafening raptor-like shriek before diving on Apocalypse, ramming on his underbelly. The brutal hit caught it off-guard, and he toppled backwards. Jean started to ravage his body with her beak and claws, slashing with berserker frenzy and dousing him in charring flames. The intensity of the assault overwhelmed to Apocalypse, but he reacted instinctively with the hurt of his hide torn and sliced in ribbons, blasting to Jean with a wide beam catapulted her backwards.  
  
After several aerial spins Phoenix controlled the searing pain of the blast and halted her momentum, gliding hastily towards Scott. The sight of him sprawled on the immaterial floor bled her heart and boiled her blood, but she wouldn't act rashly against the external bastard. She landed by his side and hoisted him in a sitting position, holding him with her arms. After gazing longingly at his face, she hurled a grim and murdering glare at En Sabah Nur, who was striding pompously at them. The ground quaked and wavered with each thunderous footstep.  
  
"Impertinent worms!" He roared "To me your lives are only pebbles dragged by the sea waves! Reeds caught in a typhoon! Grass blades hurled in a pyre! My hand will crush your bodies and strip your souls before slaying you! I'll conquer this universe stomping on your cold, lifeless cadavers!"  
  
"Funny" Jean sneered acidly, as her mind repaired the wounds of her astral self and an orange armor flashed on her body. "You're still blackened and scarred and bleeding from my former attack and you're menacing us!" A nimbus of flames shimmered around her and Scott, condensing in a shield of feather-like sparks. Her body crackled with the energy she was mustering. "Come on, motherless fuck! If you're so powerful and superior, attack instead of boasting! Come on! Dare to it!"  
  
"Whimpering mortals! Gladly I shall oblige your urges of dying. Long and painful- Yeargh!"  
  
Jean Grey-Summers blinked stunned. A fast meteor of amber fire had erupted out of the tar-like mire she had crossed, and as a lightning bolt, it had struck to Apocalypse, hurling him as far as the rim of the 'skyline'.  
  
The solid energy bolt expanded, and a human figure solidified into it. And as Jean cradled soothingly her feeble husband, she gaped in awe. She knew her son was an impressive image in the astral plane, but the man standing in front of her, shielding them with his frame, was awesome. His astral self glowed with the brightest light, exuding charring golden blazes. His mere presence was unleashing an awful storm into the Scott's mind, and she felt him groaning in aching agony. Concern marred her features.  
  
On the border of the vault, Apocalypse began to grow out of proportion and limit, until becoming a towering giant. His looming self, tall as a mount, leered down at them with a mixture of fury and spite.  
  
"Once and again I've proved myself stronger than you, Dayspring! And newly do you try opposing to my plans with your puny power? I hesitate among praising your persistence or regretting your craziness." He stretched out his trunk-like arms, and they transformed into twin cannons. "Poor stubborn fool. You wished triumphing over me even forfeiting your life, but you only accomplished your father waged your battle in your name, losing the life on it! You are a failure of man, Cable."  
  
He fired a volley of crackling fireballs, which landed where Cable stood. Rubble and dust flew everywhere as the projectiles scorched the surface and opened crater-like scars on it. But neither of the plasma bullets damaged to Nathan or pierced his psychic battle aura.  
  
Among the smoke billowing from his cannons, Apocalypse observed him, stunned. He had been sure of that attack would wound him at least. But he remained unscathed. He didn't wobble even.  
  
Jean, who staring at him from behind -very thankful of no seeing what look her son's eyes displayed-, wasn't surprised at all. She understood what energies were fueling him. Seething hatred by Apocalypse. Anguished love by his father. Two feelings, both very powerful but fully opposite, throbbing in him and tearing him apart, but at once giving him an endless supply of strength. Nathan was right now beyond pain or suffering. He was basking in a tormenting rage only the Nur's death would quench.  
  
"Leave. My. Parents. Alone!" He roared, and a hurricane of psionic wind arose around him. Swinging high his psimitar, he charged towards Apocalypse with another hatred-boosted bellow.  
  
Then...  
  
A pillar of fire exploded where Apocalypse stood.  
  
A blade drew a jagged line, slicing with strength of swordsman and precision of surgeon.  
  
An intense, glorious light flooded the mindscape, as a bloodcurdling scream pierced the 'air'.  
  
On the physical plane, neither of the X-Men understood what was exactly happening. First they'd seen with horror to their fearless leader disrupting the energy flux between Apocalypse and X-Man. A horror had grown when they watched to their sworn enemy taking residence in the Scott's body, and transforming until becoming a seven-foot tall monster, bald, with blue lips, hairless skin of grey hue, and a single big eye on the face.  
  
The monster stood up, looming them with his fists closed and a sick smile splitting his twisted visage, when he howled in pain and stumbled dizzily, grabbing his head. One second later, Nathan had risen with a snarl, but instead of attacking he kept frozen on his spot, with one faraway glance on his eyes. The Nur's shape, form and aspect started to waver, as if he was melting, and a sphere of orange and golden light exploded of sudden where he stood.  
  
The surface of the silent fireball rippled, and it spat two shapes landed on opposite sides of the chamber. Jean shook her head groggily, as if she was half-asleep in a daze, and crawled anxiously at one of them.  
  
The floating and still sphere trembled again, and a stream of bright sparks flowed out of it, flooding the place. A wave of warmth and healing swept over The Twelve, and they felt marveled how their powers, energies and strengths were being restored. It was a tingling, fuzzy feeling.  
  
The second figure, a dwarfed and bald man, with his tanned skin wrinkled and slackened, was slithering weakly among the debris carpeting the floor. However his limbs were too thin and its muscles were too fragile to hold his frame.  
  
"T-this can't be possible" he stuttered faintly. His voice sounded haggard and rusty, and he misspelled the words due to the lacking of many teeth. The X-Men were amazed. That ancient, decadent and pathetic figure was their ultimate nemesis, the mad mutant warlord who had tried owning the power of a God and ruling the world? "My power is... lost..."  
  
A shadow covered him suddenly, and one hard boot stepped on his back. He howled. The weight had nearly split his backbone.  
  
"I'd dreamt sometimes with seeing this picture. Not often, mind you, because I'm not of the optimistic sort." Cable seethed, gripping his weapon and lifting it up. "You've always lived according to your own damned creed. Die now according to it, flonqing son of bitch!"  
  
The spear of wicked-looking edge slashed a downward arc, and the Apocalypse's head was detached off his body. Green fumes floated out of the wound, coalescing in a humanoid figure. Nathan leapt backwards swiftly, and with one fluid motion, he lunged on the ghost, thrusting his blade deeply in his chest and burying it into it.  
  
The Apocalypse's death cry echoed throughout the entire expanse of the Egyptian desert, like the yell of a devil falling. And as the Nur's astral self vanished in smoke, Nathan glared balefully at the hideous, loathsome corpse. Starlight glow flared on his eye, and the atoms were spliced and disintegrated.  
  
"This is the man I am, Nur. The same kind my father is." He wheezed out, ignoring the petrified stares of horror and sickened revulsion the X-Men got. His eyes rolled up, and he dropped heavily on the floor. Fainted and motionless as a puppet with its strings cut.  
  
Silence lasted several long and tense minutes.  
  
"Damn it!" The Jean's yell shattered abruptly the moment. "What are you doing? We must carry them to the Blackbird! My husband and my son need medical care urgently!"  
  
Her harsh words jolted in action to everyone. The X-Men scrambled to their feet and rushed to help her or to move to Cable, who was passed out on the dust.  
  
Neither of them happened thinking they had achieved the final victory over the ultimate evil.  
  
To be continued... 


	3. Part Three Master and Disciple

After the Merge

Author: Jenskott

Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse, he kept accidentally any of the power?

Notes: Thanks very much for the reviews! Keep on them, please! This chapter deals with the Scott and Jean's pasts so like their feelings and their personalities. Marvel uses to give them sugary personalities, but I use darker pasts and angrier characterizations. They fit them better in my opinion.

Rating: PG-13 for some language, I suppose.

Feedback: To I need opinions, please. They will be read, reckoned with and worshipped.

Part Three. Master and Disciple-

A deep and stiff silence drowned the darkened room. The only sounds disrupted that atmosphere of strained calm were several faint, almost imperceptible, breaths, and the irritating and steady beep of the monitors.

She had come to loath and cherish that intermittent buzzing. She loathed it because it meant they went on sleeping. And she cherished it because it meant they kept still alive.

Shock-induced coma. Hank and Cecilia had given her very long-winded scientific explanations, but it boiled down to two things: Nathan had practically burnt to himself out, and the Scott's mind had been victim of a mental rape and battlefield of a terrible psychic fight, which practically tore apart it. Beast had recited likewise many statistics, graphics and figures. Cold ciphers to avoid facing what they stated, the fact neither Hank nor her nor someone would admit aloud: It was almost impossible they woke up.

Fuck that. As the Cecilia's silence was due to wariness and grieving respect, neither of her friends believed for one second they'd not come out of it. The Summerses were fighters, warriors never gave up. Throw them in the Hell and they crawled back to the surface. She'd lost count of how many times Scott had survived against all the odds. And Nathan was just so stubborn like his father to deceive the grim reaper. Madelyne, Apocalypse, the Canaanites, Stryfe, his own son... many had tried kill him since he was a toddler, and neither had succeeded. Yes, they'd wake up.

And she'd be there to watch it. She'd be there to greet them with a smile and a tear. Thus she remained between both beds, listening to the annoying and persistent humming of the life support systems. Leaned on one chair, with her hands entwined on her lap or clasping her knees, staring alternatively at each heap wrapped in white sheets. She rested on a third bed and ate the meals Ororo brought her. Alone in that med. lab, bathed with gaudy neon light or shrouded in dim shadows, day after day since Akkaba.

Oh, there had been others. Cecilia, the original X-Men, Ororo. Many had come to visit, pay their respects, check up on the sick ones or inquiring about her health state. Some to talk her into going up. She refused with kind words or stubborn negatives. And if they insisted, she threw them off mentally. Domino was other frequent company, staying by the Nathan's side as she dwelt relentlessly. On sorrowful, gloomy thoughts of chagrin, guilt and betrayal Jean would rather ignore. But Domino forgot shield her blaring thoughts and feelings, and they permeated through her flimsy barriers. Damn her fucking huge power.

Of course there was a last visitor. As steady and determined and pained as herself, but more reasonable. He used to listen to Hank when he pleaded him leave. But usually he was like now. Quiet, silent, watching from the other corner of the room, with his hands entwined above his knees.

She wouldn't speak him. And he wouldn't dare to come near from her. And so they remained in silent vigil. In a stalemate neither of them was willing breaking.

Jean came around with an abrupt start. She had unwillingly dozed. Her lips uttered a mild curse, and she nipped her backhand, using the hurt to keep awake. If Hank caught her slumbering, he was able to carry her to her own bed, sedate her and chain her.

The muffled noise of wheels rolling over tiles started her mildly. She tilted her head one fraction to see the Professor approaching slowly. Seemingly the dreaded confrontation would be postponed no longer.

He motored to her side and placed a hand on hers shoulder. The touch felt so gentle like when she was an innocent child, with a warm and kind professor taught her to silence the bad voices into her head.

"You fell asleep." He stated. "Perhaps you can be persuaded to rest now."

She rubbed fiercely her eyes and blinked. "I'll do later, sir. Thanks for your concern."

She kept quiet again. Xavier shook wearily his head. "Wear out your energies won't make any good, Jean, neither stir them out of the coma."

"I know, Charles" She mused plainly. Another pause began. A silence with too many issues unsaid and unresolved hanging. Charles Xavier bit his lip with regret. Since that accursed day, Jean talked him when he asked only. And never said further words that the strictly necessary. There was a wide chasm open in his father-daughter relationship, a moat neither of them dared to jump, a wound whose depth he was frightened of staring at. But it was imperative one of them tried leaping across the cliff to mend that scar.

He glanced hesitantly towards the biobed where one still figure lay in a deep dream, hooked to machines to keep the oxygen swelling his lungs and his heart beating. His very heart shrunk seeing him so beaten.

"You know" He mumbled awkwardly, fixated on his face. His skin had a translucent, sallow hue. "I can still recall when the agent Duncan helped me to meet a new mutant. A starving, slim and fretful young teen, who yearned for human warmth and love. An orphan, runaway, abused by Jack Winters-"

"Also nicknamed Jack O'Diamonds" Jean completed the phrase with a sneer not quite masked her loath. "Someone should have given his mother a pamphlet nine months earlier his birth. Son of bitch..."

Xavier nodded. "I agree full-heartily. Fred and I convinced to the judge that Scott shouldn't be tossed in damp and shady cell as a dangerous criminal, since he was only a confused and scared boy deserved a second chance. I don't know what she was thinking when she appointed me his guardian legal, but I was frightened. I ignored how be a father to Scott, let alone a good teacher."

She arched her thin brows. He smiled sadly. "I'm a respected doctor in psychology, licensed to teach in the New York State. Still have the capability of teaching and have the skill are different matters. I wanted instilling in you the same fervor to learn literature or sciences than you applied to my dream. Deal with real teenagers taught ME how tough and frustrating the chore can become. However it was what I really wished doing. Establish a school, no a training camp to super-heroes. Perhaps if I'd followed that plan-"

Jean looked away, actually imagining where he intended going. "Charles, stop. Please."

She had the same uncanny skill that her son did to feel sensitive subjects and dodge them as a plague. Xavier clasped one hand around hers and squeezed slightly. "I can't, Jean. We need talk about this."

Silence. "Please, only... tell me what you feel. Release your pent-up frustrations. We have hardly spoken since my evil side threatened with obliterating the planet."

Pregnant silence. Then... "Do you really want me venting?"

He nodded. "Yes. Please."

An itching on her lips warned her teeth were drawing blood. Clenching a trembling fist, she glanced sideways. There were few chances of her shouts stirred them awake, right? Her chest ascended, held on shakily, and lowered. She then lifted her chin up, tossed backwards her red hair, and glared.

"All right. I'm so... angry with you I can't even put it in words!" Her right fist slammed the stool violently. "He left his retirement for you! He gave up his chance... our chance of leading a normal life... a normal future, and you screwed it up! Scott relied on the team to handle that mess without us, but you insisted we stay on duty in spite of Apocalypse couldn't fulfill his plan without the whole crew! But it's always been like this, hasn't it? You order 'jump' and Scott must ask grudgingly 'how high' so the rest jump too. Do you know what that did him? Do you know what that did me?"

Xavier went on staring.

"You raised him to be the general of your merry mutant militia. You taught him his life consisted in waging an endless war. You made he felt worthy of something only if accomplished your dream. And what did that bring about? He tries so hard being a good leader and living up your impossible expectations he's unable to think selfishly, he's unable to lead a normal life. He returns always to you. And I've turned in a fucking kind of den mother to the entire X-clan. Every time I watched Scott getting worn out or stressed with this madhouse or someone whimpered to me about his or her depressing issues, expecting me resolve them matter-of-factly, I got so frustrated I wished pushing your wheelchair down the steps!"

Xavier went on staring.

"But of course, we must set an example! Scott fixes the school and leads the team, and I fix the Warren's depression about his wings, Hank's about his maturity, Bobby's about his immaturity, Rogue's about her powers... They think I exist to that! Always Marvel Girl, the X-Woman, or Jean Grey, the goddamned all's mom, never the plain and simple Jean. And Gambit has the gall of sneer and scorn and calling us 'the teacher's pets'! I'd like to see him in our place. Nobody bears the responsibilities we do, nobody takes the blame! They only see Tight-ass Leader and Miss Perfect. Ha! They don't know when their anal-retentive, boy-scout leader was twelve he picked pockets, broke into homes, lifted cars and was a... hustler. Or her little princess spent years committed in a ward... hearing the minds of the crazies who lived in there... without mentioning drug addicts, alcoholics, beaten wives, suicidal patients... without knowing who she was. The housewife of the 112-A room? Or the whore in rehabilitation of the 608-D? Or the epileptic boy of the 225-B? Or the schizophrenic widower of the 433-E? Or everyone at once?"

Xavier went on staring.

Her voice lowered gradually the volume till a glum whisper. And her eyes gazed darkly, eerily at the tiles. "They know nothing. They think we get the things easier and many despite us for it. Some are unable to assume we're so fucked like the rest, just we use better masks to pretend emotional stability." Her voice wavered for a moment, and then a very dark grin lit up her shadowed face. "And they're amazingly convinced we have a perfect father-children relationship. Ha! You know I backed Val when she came to fetch you in the wake of the battle against Onslaught. To this day I ignore if it was because I thought she was right, or because I couldn't deal with you then. Not even stay next to you. Not with the dark, little secrets Onslaught revealed me."

Her eyes swiveled back to him. With a heated, writhing glare. Her pupils usually sparkled as emeralds, but now they were obscure and hard as shards of black obsidian. "You never told me you held a fetish for underage redheads... Professor!"

Xavier blanched. "Jean-" He trailed off faintly.

With a crooked, sick grin, she arched back her head and laughed, cutting off his strangled voice. "So many tiny pieces fitted in suddenly. The times you made me stand out of the rest, the secrets you shared with me or kept from me, the time you required we had together... The way you distanced me from the boys troubled me often, but I was foolishly proud and self-satisfied... Scott was the team leader, but I was the teacher's favorite... which is one way of establishing a rivalry, by the way... and I prided on it, disregarding any nagging, pesky doubts. Surrogated daddy loved me more and that was all counted to the dumb, stupid, naive little girl I was. Well, I suppose the joke is on me, then."

"Jean-"

"Don't 'Jean' me, Charles!" She boomed suddenly. He winced at the meaningful tone she was using. Her eyes were two blazing green coals aimed on him. "Perhaps the fault was mine, by turning you in a saint, assuming you were free of the dark urges and evil perversions all human being stores in the black half of the heart. But you know what some orderlies made me in that godforsaken shithole when I was in my padded cell, strapped in a straitjacket and comatose with sedatives. How do you think I feel knowing my professor, mentor and second daddy leered at me just like those sick, pervert sons of bitches?"

The last words merged in a shout echoed along the room, and Xavier feared Hank or someone else came down, alerted by the ruckus. "Jean-"

"Tell me: the times you took me away the boys were due to this? Or the times you pushed so hard to Scott? It reminds that time I was hospitalized and he refused fly to Scotland to save the new X-men from the Juggernaut -and he'd not arrive in time anyway- while I wasn't out of danger. You nearly slapped him, rubbing on his face the 'I picked you from the streets, ungrateful kid' lecture. You weren't really angry of he left the new team fending for themselves, were you? You were jealous of he stayed with me!"

"Jean!"

"What did I mean to you, Charles?"

The inquisitive, demanding, poisoned question rendered him speechless.

"Was it love? Or mere lust? Or even greed?" She spat venomously.

Pause. The Professor lowered his head. Not even the faintest whisper disrupted the stiff, queasy silence, burdened with pain and betrayal. Then... "I... don't... know."

Jean locked an unreadable look on him, and then averted her eyes. Gingerly she observed her dry and worn-out hands. "It's the first truthful thing you have said me for a long while, Charles." She mumbled.

"Je-"

"I'm sick of hearing you repeating my name. This topic is closed, we'll NEVER talk about it again, and nobody will know anything about this ever. Is that clear, Professor?" She barked tartly.

Xavier nodded weakly. His eyesight wandered over the ceiling. He remembered when she was a reckless, mirthful child, brimming with life, following him everywhere, gazing at everything with a sense of wonder, and smiling him with an expression of absolute trust, unwavering belief and unquestionable loyalty. When he had met her she was bedridden, with her weak and thin body withering underneath a filthy sheet, her hair a red mop on her head, unblinking eyes frozen on the ceiling, and gaping mouth whispering weird murmurs. He had come into her mind and locked out the voices torturing her. She'd idolized him by it.

"Really I expected you mentioned when your death boosted your powers and I left the planet as you developed Multiple Person Disorder paired with schizophrenia." He mused thoughtfully.

Jean shot him an utterly venomous glare and ground her teeth with barely restrained fury. "Believe it or not, Charles, I wasn't intending going through the whole 'Past grievances and letdowns' list..."

She seemed being about of adding further, but he started to talk again. It was his turn to cut her off. "I've told you my real interest was a school to young mutants rather a craving for establishing a new super-heroic team. Perhaps I missed, deep down, the son a mental illness had taken away me. I couldn't or didn't know how meshing together his different personalities, and I felt such... failure."

Jean listened attentively.

"My own son, and my flaunted power was useless to aid him." He sighed. "Maybe I was looking for a substitute when Scott and you came. Yet I couldn't just be a father. Also I needed be your Professor, your guide. An authoritative figurehead. So I became cold, dispassionate, often distant. And the fight against the evil we were committed to was a complicated chess game with twisted maneuvers. So I kept many times secrets off yours, or acted behind your backs, hoping it was for your welfare. I know the five of you forgave me when I sent you to rescue Warren in the Magneto's asteroid without apparent backup, but you didn't it with the Z'Noxx mess. The subject was very thorny to me too, so I dodged it, merely expecting you thought coldly and rationally. Instead of talking to each one to explain my reasons. And telling what my 'death' -the Changeling's one- was an unplanned event."

His crestfallen eyes scrutinized the tiles as he spoke. "Jean, I assure you I take the blame for all. Including saddle you with duties, secrets and legacies you were too young to bear or carry on. And I've often regretted having not taught better to Scott to sense and love instead of think and rationalize, or let down your trust after practically beseeching it. But sometimes is so frustrating look up and go on! Sometimes I'm sat in my desk in the night, listening to the shades and ghosts of my mistakes, questioning my entire life. In all this time we haven't accomplished advancing one step in our goal, and I've floundered my efforts like mentor or even like surrogated father. Do you know what is like feel your life is a big, continued failure, that you've been a presumptuous fool wasted his time in charming delusions?"

Jean regarded him curiously. Abruptly she rose up and placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move, but she forced him telekinetically to look up. "Nate Grey and you should put your differences aside and talk sometime, Professor. Then you'd know what the life had been like if you or your X-Men didn't exist." She stated seriously. She sat afterwards, and without looking at him, went on inexorable with her noncommittal tone. "You've done a difference, Charles. A big one. I can be pissed off on you, but I plead you NEVER forget that. Without you, this world would be a hellhole of death fated to the oblivion. Understood?"

She entwined her hands, folded her legs and her stern countenance swiveled to Scott. Her unyielding, stormy expression softened in a tender and loving gaze. The Professor knew as far as she was concerned, the conversation was over.

Not knowing if they'd really progressed, but praying fervently they had rebuilt one bridge over the abyss, he wheeled back at his corner.

To be continued...


	4. Part Four Wall of Bricks

After the Merge

Author: Jenskott

Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse, he kept accidentally any of the power?

Notes: Thank you very much for the reviews! I want more! And regarding to the questions: The characterizations Scott and Jean had in Lobdell era (Perfect Leader and X-Mother) were wildly different of their personalities in Claremont era. They seemed me very artificial, like if they were being forced to rehearse a role they hated. Jean was fed-up of acting like a psychologist, she felt betrayed by the Professor and her husband had nearly dead in the Dream's name... Of course she blew up.

Rating: PG-13 for some language.

Feedback: To I need opinions, please. They will be read, reckoned with and worshipped.

Part Four. Wall of Bricks-

The Danger Room vibrated with still another explosion of light and fire. Flame-throwers unleashed tongues of golden blazes, machine guns shot barrages of aggressive bullets, spiked iron balls fell from the ceiling, pits opened on the floor, and gas, blaring alarms and flashing lights invaded the battleground.

Given that X-Force was using the training chamber, explosions weren't unexpected. Destruction is meant to reign around the confident, boisterous and reckless mutant group. However there was something amiss in the crowd's behavior during their duel with the program. An odd kind of lightness overpowering them. An elation easing a weight of hurt, fear and regret constricting their chests.

Nathan 'Cable' Summers had snapped out of the coma.

Domino beamed thinly, with wistful motherly pride, as her team shattered and blew up more murderer devices. It was nice seeing them happy and smiling after the last hellish weeks. Murky days of terrible anguish and wrenching uncertainty and frightful grieving. When Nathan had stirred violently on his biobed, before awakening, the... mirth had chased the gloominess away had been almost too much to bear. She felt exhilarated, and the kids were bursting with energy.

So she had dragged them to the Danger Room, where they could vent their pent-up distress constructively without obliterating innocent properties. Nearly everyone was gathered: Sam, Danny, Bobby, Tabitha, James, Bedlam, Terry, Julio and Shatterstar. It felt... right they were all together. The sight brought her memories of happier times where they were a dysfunctional family. She ignored the faint and nagging voice asking her if she missed them. If she wanted the things back to the way they used to.

A very dangerous thought.

Abruptly she laughed. "It's useless you try creeping up stealthily on me, little girl. I know you're here since the first moment."

The noiseless footsteps her ears had detected stopped. They were substituted by a derisive chuckle. "The old man was bragging on how good you're. I was going to check it."

The beautiful raven-haired woman didn't alter her watchful stance, but she tilted her head a fraction to regard with piercing purple eyes to the short, slim teenager. Se didn't question how she had come into without setting off the safety command stopped the program. Her eyesight had spotted behind the girl the trapdoor led to the Morlock Tunnels. It was opened. And shadows gleamed on the hole.

"Sarah, right? What is your opinion now?"

"That I owe to Wolverine an apology."

A shark-like grin split her face. However it was less mischievous and sincerer than usual in her. Marrow had changed quite since her terrorist days. She wore casual attire, a plain maroon T-shirt and dark-blue overalls made of unstable molecules. Saw-edged spikes of bone jutted out of her skin, but they only stuck out of her knees, elbows, covering her shoulders as armor plates, and shaping a horned crown on her forehead. Through hard training she had gained considerable control about her power.

"Sarah!" A nice voice, with thick but charming accent, wavered on the air. Sam Guthrie landed smoothly in front of them, doused in the amber glow of his crackling force field, showing a big smile shining on his mouth. Sarah smiled weakly... Or coyly? Domino quirked an amazed eyebrow. "Since when are you here?"

She giggled nervously and scratched her crown. Unbeknownst to her, Domino gaped. The little psychopath was acting as a shy teen girl? "I've just come back from visiting to Callisto. I didn't know you were training now."

As they conversed, the rest of X-Force gathered around them. Some of them were surprised, others glad or wary. Tabitha showed a decidedly hostile scowl.

"So have you been crawling amidst rats now?" She huffed diffidently. "Certainly you smell like one."

Silence. "Well" The proud Morlock rebuked with a smoldering glare. "I rather prefer smell like a rodent than be one. And I prefer the ones with four legs and tail before humans who cross her boyfriend with his best friend, force him to eat her shit when they're feeling bad, and expect he returns as a sick puppy when they feel better. "

"How you DARE." Her eyes flashed and Tabitha felt energy building up inside her and hissing on her fingertips. Rage and guilt ate her and fueled at once, and she was on the brink of attacking when Domino slipped smoothly between them and blocked her eyesight. Her foreboding, ominous leer promised considerable pain if she struck. Meltdown relented with a jittery shudder.

Domino spun around to throw her threatening glare at Marrow, and although the rose-haired girl stood her ground, her frown diluted in a mollified and abashed countenance. She sighed, glad of having steered the crisis. Since X-Force had returned to the mansion, Sarah and Tabitha had been on the each other's throats. And nobody needed to ask why.

"God, I'm hungry" Sam voiced nervously with a forced smile. "May we go up to the kitchen and nibble anything?"

Both women shot him heated glares capable of melting lead, and he backed down with a squirming, frightened squeal. It was interesting and funny check Cannonball was so clueless like his mentor about love matters.

"Sometimes I wish I have stayed in Asgard." Danielle Moonstar mumbled darkly, shaking her head. "I'm glad of Mr. Summers is fine -or as fine as he's capable of in this situation-, but what is there about his father? He remains stuck in a coma." She spoke out loud, knowing her reflection would change the subject instantly.

Surprisingly, Marrow was the first in speaking. "Please" She sputtered "If is true the half of one quarter of the things I've heard and read about the upworlder, he'll come out of it."

Sam nodded firmly. "Mr. Summers is a fighter, like his son, or his daughter, or his wife. Just like them, he'll rise from his ashes."

The buzz wasn't less monotone or more bearable now than in the first day, Jean thought dejectedly.

"Jean, are you sure of you want doing this without further backup?"

"Absolutely sure, Charles." Her voice was haggard, but otherwise emotionless.

Nathan and she sat together by the Scott's bedside. They were slightly hunched onwards, reading his face anxiously as he kept drowned in the abyss of a permanent dream. Jean's eyes stung with the tears and the glittering lights of the infirmary, but she contemplated his features, carving them in her perfect memory. His brittle brown hair, his bulged forehead, his perky nose, his thin lips parted with each breath, his manly chin. Under that light someone might mistake that coma for a deep and peaceful slumber.

Her hands wrung her skirt's folds shakily. Weeks. Weeks since his husband was a motionless vegetal laid on that mattress and confined in that lab. She'd not brook it longer.

"I agree with Jean, Professor" Nathan voiced sternly, glaring at Xavier with a stony look. Phoenix peeked sideways to him. With wary curiosity. There been only were hours since he'd awoken, but she'd noticed of something odd between Charles and him. Although Nate didn't trust in the Professor, he respected him. However she was sensing a lot stored hostility boiling in him beneath layers of tough chilliness.

She repressed a gasp of realization. Had he 'heard' somehow their conversation back that day?

Meanwhile, Cable kept on talking the Professor into his plan. "We don't know what can lie underneath the Scott's mind, Professor. Traps, pitfalls, gaps, labyrinths, anything. It's rather dangerous go down to one telepath. Two telepaths can protect at each other if someone sets off a trap, and you can monitor our progress from outside, only in case. It's reasonable and practical."

It was. The Professor sighed. Nathan had given perfectly valid and solid arguments, acting as a military boss instead of a stubborn teen. And like the great strategist he was, Cable knew that'd disarm him. He couldn't refute his plan. However Xavier knew it boiled down to one thing: it was his own guilt -by involving Scott in this- against a double Summers guilt trip -Nathan grieved by not having taken his father's place and Jean mourned by not having protected her spouse-. Never he had a prayer to convince them.

With a weary and defeated expression, he nodded. "All right. Please, be careful."

Mother and son nodded back. The broad, rough Nathan's hand grabbed the little and smooth Jean's fingers, squeezing them reassuringly. Both of them shut their eyes and Phoenix rested two fingers on Cyclops' forehead.

Of sudden they soared through the astral plane, gliding among millions of minds, dodging billions of thoughts, and heading for the familiar Scott's signature. The two shooting stars of liquid golden fire and crackling orange flames skimmed alongside the verge of his mind. After an instant of still hesitation, they plunged into it.

It's almost impossible define to a headblind like works a telepath's mind. Mainly because the telepaths operate with thoughts, no with words, and the individual thoughts are too personal to be transferred to another person without changes or misinterpretations. It can be said there's a first level, where the telepath senses or sends the brain waves as if they were sounds. That's the hearing layer. At a second level, the thoughts or remembrances shape visions the telepath can interpret like pictures. That's the sight level. When a high-level telepath slid his or her conscience into other mind, the psionic power translates automatically the synapses and electric impulses in images.

The images Nathan and Jean were seeing within Scott frightened them.

Rogue clenching Ms. Marvel's throat as she stole her powers. Kitty seeing to Piotr speared on the chest by Deathbird. Remy taking from Sinister a capsule would cost him his soul. Sarah watching Sabertooth disemboweling innocent people. Ororo finding her parent's corpses. Bobby watching Lorna fanning Alex. Warren cleaving off Hodge's head with his sharp wings. Piotr seeing his sister twisted in a horrible demon. Jubilee tortured by Bastion. Betsy crippled by Slaymaster. Lorna possessed by Malice. The Professor watching his son bedridden.

Sketches and flashes of the most traumatic, most awful and saddest times in X-Men's lives were flashing quickly around of them as a lightning storm. But there were other visions, more dreadful by far. Scenes of barren landscapes carpeted with cadavers, where the ground was a crimson lake due to the blood leaking out of the corpses. And on the red sky streaked with ebony thunderclouds, crows and vultures hovered on relentless circles. Images of war and death and desolation and bloodshed. And everyone giving off vibes of cruelty, of greediness, of violence, of bloodlust. Those were Apocalypse's memories.

But Scott's soul wasn't visible at anywhere.

"Stab his eyes!" Nathan swore bitterly. "That bastard won't leave him alone even after his death."

"That isn't the worst thing, Nathan. Look!" Jean pointed upwards.

The 'place' where they stood was a kind of glass-made dome. And the thin walls shuddered and vibrated constantly. Voices, shouts, whispers and cries were heard, like spectral gusts of wind shook the chamber. Like if they were in a house with the walls too thin to keep the neighbors' voices out.

And the voices weren't memories. They were conversations could be happening right now, random thoughts Scott couldn't know, idle musings he couldn't have heard.

Jean gulped heavily, feeling old remembrances being stirred. And asphyxiating her.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Her cracked voice muttered. The familiarity was too awful.

"Jean, look at that!" Nathan warned.

She whirled around to watch other image. An Apocalypse's memory. Almost the last one. Cable diving on him, brandishing his psimitar. He blasting repeatedly, unleashing tongues of power without any effect. The razor-sharp pike slashing downwards, and hacking him off the Summers' brain. Then, with a last burst of fury, telepathy entwining with telekinesis and lashing him out of his host's mind. The power abandoning him in the process, and the last supply spent instinctively in molding a new body. However, remnants of the energy were left behind.

Jean contemplated horrified the chain of events. "Holy... Pieces of the power of the Twelve are still in Scott. That means..." Her lips emitted a strangled, wheezing gasp. "He's now telepath! But he's unable of controlling it, and everyone's thoughts are driving him catatonic!" It wasn't a wonder he didn't wake up.

Nathan nodded grimly. "Needless to say the garbage of Nur's mind isn't helping." He placed a hand on her shoulder and stroked it gently. He needed being strong for her mother. "Cheer up, Redd. We know now the trouble. And we know how fix it."

Jean controlled her shivers and nodded. A frown started to harden her gorgeous features. "You're right. It'll be a load of work. We have no time to relive old, painful memories." Her fists clenched determinedly. She couldn't waste time in regretting and weeping. She needed being strong for Scott. She had to focus on the task. "The first thing is build mental shields. A-"

"Wall of bricks." Cable completed the sentence. "Come on."

Jean was the most experienced so she began. Her eyes studied carefully the shattered dome, perusing each crack, seam and rift fracturing the barrier. She spread onwards her palms and strands of rose energy gushed forth from her fingers. Thousands of strings stuck on the vault, entwining together and weaving a thick, multi-layered cobweb of thinking along the borders of the mind. No strand was frayed or raveled. When she was done, Nathan imagined a large boulder of grey stone and placed it on the border of the net. His mind started piling up one square brick after other, building the bulwarks of a towering, castle-like stronghold. In an afterthought he erected a postern on the wall.

When he put the last block, the voices piercing the brain stopped at last. Both breathed reassured.

The first chore was over. But there still was a lot job left to do. As they searched for Scott, Jean and Nathan began to acknowledge, separate and box away every image. Likewise they wiped thoroughly each Apocalypse's shard they came across, cleansing carefully Scott's brain off his slime.

When the swamp was clearer of gunk and sludge they found him. He was squatted in a corner, with his head buried in his knees, shivering fretfully. Tendrils of darkness swirled around him. An unbidden recollection flashed on Jean's eyes. Of a redhead ten-year huddled in a nook of her own head, writhing and shrinking to hide of the voices. A sliver of pain stabbed her aching heart.

Her son and she floated gradually to both Scott's sides.

Scott. Wake up 

The hunched, glum shape quivered, startled. Who's Scott? 

You're 

He lifted his head up with painfully slowness. They were in front of him, but his glowing eyes gazed dimly at the skyline. They didn't miss his glazed, dilated pupils. I don't know anyone named Scott 

Yes, you do! You're him! She sounded desperate.

No. I'm a hero. I'm a thief. I'm a teenager. I'm an old man. I'm a student. I'm a professor. I'm a prankster. I'm a depressed. I'm a scientific. I'm a dictator. I'm a runaway. I'm a millionaire. I'm a god. I'm an animal. I'm a man. I'm a woman. I can be anyone and anyone can be me. Voices and memories swim in my head and I can't deduce fiction from reality. I don't know if I'm real or not. How can you know I'm real, let alone who I am? Perhaps you're more ghosts sent to torture me 

Listen to me Nathan commanded with a rough and still gentle tone that Jean had heard thousands of times in other lips. You're Scott Summers. My father. Her husband. You've saved a world and the battle has torn you apart. But it's over. Return with us to rest. To home 

I don't know which my home is. I don't know who I am He repeated stubbornly.

I'll show you. We'll do it Jean draped her arms around his neck and her remembrances seeped in him.

He watched the first image of the shy but polite kid who had kindly offered her one chair instead of hitting on her like her other teammates. The long classes, the study sessions, the graduation. The fights against Magneto, Vanisher, Blob, Unus, the Brotherhood, Juggernaut, the Sentinels, Mimic, Factor Three. And always, in the tranquillity of the routine or in the heat of the battle, her eyes drifted to him. He watched them declaring their love at each other, and his heart skipped one heartbeat. He watched them dating and fighting throughout the years and a smile tugged upwards his corners' lips. His eyes widened when he witnessed the development of a spiral of events ended up in her death in the Moon.

He moaned loudly, feeling something ripping and bleeding into his chest. That agony was choking, unbearable. But anyone else's recall shouldn't hurt so much, right? Then that memory was of him?

Jean cuddled him tightly and another cascade of images flooded him. Her miraculous rebirth. Her grief finding out he wasn't available anymore. Her rising, simmering fury towards the redhead was her splitting portrait. The amazing revelations in Inferno. The months spent taking care of the baby and fighting. The Nathan's loss, in the Moon again. Theirs bright, luminous and long-time delayed wedding day.

Nathan took over then. He showed the first, blurry glitches of his memories, when his parents and a redhead teenager of loving gaze held him, cradling him and feeding him. The searing pain when Apocalypse infected him with the virus. The years spent in the future. The day they found out they were father and son. His wedding from his viewpoint.

More and more images flashed.

Scott, I know stay in here is tempting. If you can keep out and quiet the outside world, no one can harm you. But this place, its safety, its quietude, is phony. You must muster courage to regain the control of your own life. Please, live. Live for me 

Please, Slymm. Don't leave me again 

Glorious brightness flared and filled the place with blinding glow.

Jean opened her eyelids with a start at the same time her upper body jerked backwards. With drowsy, sluggish movements her hands stroked her eyes. She felt dizzy, worn out, and her body stung as if a jolt of electricity had coursed it.

"What the flonq is going on here?" A harsh voice barked next to her. She frowned. Nathan. Her eyelids fluttered and she regained her bearings slowly. A group of concerned people was circling them. The Professor, Betsy, Emma and her telepathic students were the closer. The remainder X-Men lingered on the rear, giving them a wide berth.

"What is going on?" Hank seemed downright scandalized, and Xavier rose a disbelieving brow. "Stars and garters! You've remained passed out fourteen hours straight! We were fearing by your lives here-"

"But we've woken up, haven't we, McCoy?" Nathan cut off brusquely. A blazing headache was thumping in the edges of his skull, and he was feeling crankier than usual. "Now tell me. Is Scott fine?"

Realization and fright dawned in a startled Jean, and her look swiveled hastily at the bed. Her hope sank into black despair when she saw, in dismay, her husband as heavily asleep as he'd remained during weeks.

Of sudden his frame trembled with a tiny shiver. More shudders followed on. His body stirred and began to move steadily. Brown eyelashes quivered and fluttered.

His eyes opened to see a mass of red hair lunging at him. Shouts and laughs crowed the air.

Scott Summers was back at last. But was he the same person?

Why didn't his eyes throw beams when he opened them? After several weeks without sunlight, his body had depleted his energy reserves.

To be continued...


	5. Part Five Leopard's Spots

After the Merge

Author: Jenskott Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse, he kept accidentally any of the power?  
Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I want more! I need more! Please! Diaz F: In the first chapter was seen his eyes won't stay that way, I'm sorry.  
Rating: PG-13 for some language, violence and innuendo.  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, but they shouldn't belong to Marvel either. Theirs legitimate creators are Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, who obviously I'm not. Argue me THAT.  
Feedback: To I need opinions, please. They will be read, reckoned with and worshipped.

Part Five. Leopard's Spots-

The day was cold and damp despite the pale glowing disc shimmering on the sky.

Rivulets of grey smoke floated on the air drawing odd, spectral shapes. Gambit took a long drag of the cigarette, letting the nicotine soothed his senses, and contemplated peacefully the shades the smoke wove, wondering about their meaning. He was glad of having shoved to Piotr out of his brooding spot on the roof. Nowadays it was the only place in the mansion where he could be alone.

He stubbed his cigarette on a red shingle and sighed wearily. "Good morning, chére. What do you want?"

Silence. Then a giggle. "I'll not ask how you knew I was here. Hi, Remy." The X-Woman known as Rogue drawled heartily. She navigated gingerly amidst rows of loose tiles and kneeled beside him. Her fingers starting to pick idly dirt specks glued to her green costume. Gambit could tell she was uneasy. "I was looking for you."

"Oh?" He smirked mockingly. "Is this a social call? Or do you want discussing anything else, Ms. Storm's Successor?"

She blushed, brightening even better his mood. "No jokes, please." She mused. Inwardly she hadn't decided which her feelings regarding her promotion were, but she questioned seriously Professor's sanity. What was he thinking when he chose them to lead the new teams? Incredibly nobody had objected. Neither of the old field commanders had complained either. Ororo seemed glad or relieved. And Scott...

"How do you feel about it? She queried casually. Remy sighed, suddenly wishing for a deck to keep his hands busy with. His eyesight drifted towards the green pasture below.

"I think I'm up to the job, chére, if that's what you want knowing." He muttered. "But I don't think the Professor consider us like the better options, but he's trying out alternatives."

"True." She meditated. "Perhaps he thinks he can't count on Scott for now..."

"He shouldn't." Gambit uttered, and immediately he wished that he'd not said those words out loud. Rogue was giving him a disbelieving, bemused gaze was twisting in an enraged frown. "Look, chére, it isn't-"

"Remy Lebeau! How can you be so callous?"

Remy groaned. He rotated gradually his body until he was facing Rogue. "When was the last time you saw Cyclops, chére?" He queried.

"Well..." She mused. Seeing the slightest hint of Scott Summers was rare those days. He spent the most part of the time in the Z'Noxx Chamber, learning how to handle his budding telepathic abilities with Jean. And when he went up, he was as a shadow lurking on the grounds. "This morning in the Danger Room."

"Exactly. Do you remember his performance?" Rogue bit his lip, grimacing with the remembrance. A squad of Nimrod sentinels, killer futuristic robots armed with the finest weapons to track, neutralize and slay mutants had surrounded him. And he... "Summers torn them apart, chére. A swept of his arm and they were shredded in scraps of metal, like if they were built with sandpaper and glue. And do you know what was the scariest thing? His face, chére."

Despite of his carefree countenance, Remy shivered inwardly, remembering Cyclops' expression. Aloof, emotionless. He barely spoke monosyllables, stared with mute nonchalance to the robots, obliterated them using fire, ice and electricity simultaneously, and marched quietly out of the Danger Room. And his face never shifted or wavered, ever stony and bereft of emotion during the entire ordeal. No pride, no satisfaction, not even resigned and bored disgust.

"I don't know what broke Blue-Lips in his head, but he isn't the same old Cyke." Gambit went on. "He's now nearly as powerful as the whole team. Such power and that frosty attitude are NOT a good combination. Power corrupts. Jean knows, the Professor knows."

"But" Rogue protested. Appalled, incredulous. "This isn't any crazy super-villain! He's Scott!"

Remy Lebeau arched back his head and laughed bitterly. They trusted on Cyclops implicitly, not matter how weird he acted, but they were ever suspicious of him, not matter what. It wasn't that he gave them any reason to trust on him, of course. His red eyes wandered briefly around the clouds, and he wondered, wistfully, where his life had gone so wrong. And when.

"Rogue, my love, take word of someone who knows: leopards can change theirs spots. To good or to bad. Remnants of Apocalypse are drifting in Scotty's head. Beast says he's dumbfounded right now, trying finding back his self. Who may tell what spots he'll choose to cover his pelt with? His? Or Nur's?"

Rogue shook her head in plain refusal. "Are you sure of you aren't afraid of he can now read minds? Including yours?" She mumbled. Though she hugged herself strongly, feeling sudden shivers freezing her. Because she couldn't deny what Gambit had several valid points. But the X-Men had given her a chance to change her spots to good...

"That too." Remy chuckled. Abruptly his laughter died, and his eyes narrowed as he peered sharply at the ground below.

Rogue followed his inquisitive stare. And she saw Jean walking resolutely towards the graveyard.

"Hi. I had the feeling of I'd find you over here." She greeted.

"Of course. I can't scare away the dead ones, can I?"

A pregnant silence followed.

Glacier wind arose, waving her rich hair as a wild red flare and grazing her face with the grass blades and sand it dragged. As she covered her smooth face, her eyes perused his husband, a lonely figure amidst the sea of grey marble tablets. He stood quiet, rigid, contemplating numbly a slab worn off by the wind and the rain, and corroded by verdant moss and lichens. She knew what name was etched on it.

She meandered among the headstones and approached to him. Hesitantly she laid her soft hands on his shoulders and leaned tenderly on his back. He stiffened with the touch.

She grimaced, somewhat pained but filled with care and compassion. Her fingers started to massage and knead with soft firmness his shoulder plates. As her digits undid deftly the hard knots on his sore muscles, the tension released him gradually. Finally he relaxed, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"Don't be afraid, Scott. Not from me, at least." Slowly to not alarm him, she circled his torso with both arms.

A silent, pregnant pause. He stared skywards. "Often I open my eyes and I see an unknown but familiar place. The land is a barren desert of rocks or sandy dunes. Ground and sky are red, but I realize that my vision isn't filtering the colors but the floor is doused in blood, and the skies are bleeding as well. Men and women screech and yell around me, fleeing or killing at each other. Then my hand turns into a long blade, or a lance or a saw, and I begin to slash, stab and cleave indiscriminately the people is near from me. All I see is heads, limbs and innards flying everywhere, sprinkled by a shower of blood droplets, and all I hear is moans and screams mixed with my own laughter. Then I came around, and meet face-to-face with you or some of our friends, and I freeze. I cling to my control to no snap, but then I sense it. Their fear, their doubts, their insecurity. Then I get angry and shut them out."

Her lips nuzzled his taut neck. "Open to me, Slim. Let me help. Erase the hurt."

He showed no reaction. "There's something wrong within me, Jean. Wrong, ugly, awful. Something broke in thousand shards when Nur shoved his essence into me. My head is twisted, shattered and screwed. His memories are tainting me with darkness. I'm scared of you see what there's inside now... I... don't want soiling you, wife. I wouldn't be able to bear it."

Jean blinked, and then burst out laughing. "God, Scott" She giggled. "Do you think you can sully me with darkness? To me?" She forced him to turn around. His eyes took surprised notice of her outfit. It'd blurred in her Dark Phoenix dress. "I AM Light and Darkness, sweetheart. You can't teach me anything else."

His hesitant, wavering hand started to stroke softly her face. Subconsciously his eyes were roaming along her body. Her darkness aroused him. "I need... I want... somebody helps me to forget the hurt. I want wiping it out, pretending it doesn't exist... But I'd be using you as a cheap..."

"Scott" She cut off with a wave of her hand "stop beating around the bush."

He stared at her glaring eyes and sighed. "I want fuck you. Hard. Now. I want to tearing your clothes with my teeth and listening to your lips moaning and begging and screaming my name."

She blinked, caught off-guard, and sputtered. "Is THAT your trouble? Go ahead, Scott."

"I can't, Jean!" He protested. It sounded suspiciously to a whine. "I'd be using you to satisfy my own pleasure, to fulfill my egocentric wishes, as if you were a cheap whore to my service! I don't-"

She whacked him telekinetically. "Don't spout nonsense, darling. You're my husband, and you need my help with a problem. What sort of wife I would be if I refused to help you? Besides, I've no inconvenient with it. In fact, I'm very willing to collaborate. Come to the boathouse..."

He regarded her, considering her words. "I can't wait so long."

With abrupt fastness he hoisted her in his arms and ran towards the woodlands. Jean held tightly on him, laughing all the way.

If you're feeling so horny, you could have stripped my clothes over my own grave

He allowed her see that thought sickened him but also intrigued him in a morbid way. It appalled her a bit, but she realized he was testing her. Trying if he could frighten her, push her away. She'd not let him.

A while later, when a drowsy languor had replaced the flaring passion and desire had burnt in them, both rested sideways on a bed of grass and leaves, their naked bodies snuggling up to each other placidly. Their clothes lay scattered among gnarled tree roots, promptly forgotten in the heat of a desire still warmed them despite of the chill pervading the air. As Jean kissed him fondly, she noticed an unbearable hotness where their skins brushed at each other, and grinned, knowing intellectually he was using his brother's thermic powers, but enjoying with the romantic notion nonetheless. Likewise she noticed she was filthy with mud, and pebbles and pin needles prickled her skin, but truthfully that itch couldn't care her less.

"I trust in you feel better now." She whispered jokingly. A salacious smile lit up her pretty strawberry lips, and her forefinger traced playfully his jaw line.

Scott nodded eagerly. "Yes. Can we do it again?"

She walloped him between laughs. "You're trying killing me."

"No. Seriously. Perhaps we can fetch our clothes -wherever they are- and..."

His voice trailed off. She was abruptly gaping, and her eyes had widened hugely as her stunned stare aimed behind them.

He followed his look to see Logan. He stood frozen among two oaks, dressed in his outfit and gawking stupidly at them. He resembled a petrified statue in the forest.

"GET OUT!" Both screamed, unleashing beams of force, waves of heat and bolts of telekinesis.

Wolverine came around in time to dodge the attacks by one hair's width, and he darted away towards the mansion with a rushed, frantic sprint.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I swear it!" He shouted as his legs leaped over rocks and fallen trunks.

He slammed violently the kitchen door and his back slumped over it. Sweat drenched his temples, and his blanched face showed signs of having watched something frightful. Slowly his heartbeats slowed down and his heavy, ragged breathing quieted and became more controlled and steadier.

A startled gasp sounded. Befuddled and somewhat scared, he looked up reluctantly.

Ororo, Jubilee, Kitty and Sarah were sat around the table, the first holding a steaming teacup. But as the windrider raised an eyebrow in silent question, Kitty and Jubilee were gawking, and Marrow barely stifled her snickers.

Storm looked at his face with her mesmerizing blue eyes, peeked at his groin and stared up again. "Have you seen anything interesting?" She quipped. Kitty covered Jubilee's eyes, ignoring her protests.

He slid down, plopping heavily on the tiles. "Don't ask, darling. Seriously, don't ask."

To be continued... 


End file.
